


A (Periodic) Table for Two

by agent85



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1, Academy Era, Bus era, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Fluff and Angst, Laboratories, Pining, Pizza, Playground Era, SciOps Era, Science, Science Experiments, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I, uh, I thought . . .” Jemma trailed off. “We’ve always had Valentine’s Day. Did you know that? After all that’s happened to us—hypoxia, Hydra, all of it—this was the time we had to be together.”</p><p>(Five times FitzSimmons spent Valentine's Day in the lab, and one time they didn't.)</p><p>For <a href="http://dr-jemsimmons.tumblr.com/">dr-jemsimmons</a> on Tumblr as part of the FitzSimmons Secret Valentine Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February 14th, 2005: SciTech Academy

**Author's Note:**

> Kayla, I hope you enjoy your gift! You asked for a FitzSimmons Valentine's Day date, and I thought, why not give you six? Well, five kinda-dates and one actual one. You'll see. <3
> 
> This is also part of my [52 short stories in 52 weeks challenge](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/post/136244562327/52-short-stories-in-52-weeks). This week's prompt: a story about a journey.
> 
> And this story wouldn't have been made possible without my wonderful beta, [Ruth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/pseuds/ruthedotcom), who made the amazing cover art and has spent the past few weeks attempting to teach me enough science to make this story work. I'm sorry, Ruth.

 

Jemma took a breath and tried to steady herself, because really, it was no big deal.

After all, she and Fitz had been partners for months now. Surely, they had already spent dozens of late nights in the lab, and today was nothing special. Except, it was Valentine's Day. Her very first in America, and their first since they became friends.

So, if Fitz was finally going to make his move, wouldn't it be the perfect time?

It was strange, because it felt like she and Fitz had known each other forever, but at the same time, she could have sworn that they were rivals only yesterday. They'd come so far in such a short time; was it too much to hope that it could go just a little further?

She checked her reflection just once more, smoothing out the wrinkles in her argyle sweater just as she heard him come in the lab. She was more than slightly disappointed to find that he was so engrossed in his textbook that he didn't even look at her.

"I think I've made progress. How's your side coming, Simmons?"

Simmons stared at him for a second, too caught up in her thoughts to understand his question, but then she looked over her samples and groaned.

"Not well, I'm afraid. I can't make anything of these DNA strands. These fruit flies will be the death of me."

Fitz cocked his head to the side, and oh, he had no idea how handsome he was.

"What's wrong with the DNA?"

"Nothing! Everything! It's . . ." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've run the gel electrophoresis about ten times, but the strands are practically identical; they’re not separating enough for me. I'm going to be here all night."

Fitz frowned at that, folding his arms to become the perfect picture of thoughtfulness.

"Well," he finally said, "it's not due until next week. I'm sure we could—”

“Yes, but the first day we can turn it in is tomorrow, and you know how hard it is to impress Professor Woodhouse.”

Fitz blinked at her, and she folded her arms, ready to fight him on it. But instead, he nodded.

“Okay. What do you need to analyze the DNA properly? Do you want me to prepare some slides, or—”

“No, Fitz. I just . . . I wish that I had better magnification, that’s all.”

But before she could tell him that she was sure she could figure it out, he was invading her space, and she had to step out of his way as to not be run over by him. He inspected her UV camera like it was the only thing in existence, and she was too overwhelmed by the butterflies in her chest to be bothered by it. But still, his inattention to her was quite disheartening, and Jemma was starting to think that Fitz might have no interest in her at all.

(Which, really, was ludicrous, considering the fact that she was just as smart as he was, and stunningly gorgeous, if she was being honest. Still, she supposed there was no accounting for taste.)

He turned around faster than she expected, and suddenly they were face to face. She felt her breath hitch before he gave a small yelp and stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said, staring at his shoes, “it’s just—I think I can increase the magnification.” He looked up, caught her eyes, then coughed and looked away. “Wouldn’t take too long, really. Quicker than trying to get DNA to behave, I expect. So I can just—”

And before she knew it, he was pulling the camera apart, and she was left to stand there, still in her gear, watching him in shock. It seemed only an instant later when he handed her the camera and invited her to try it.

She took it cautiously, but when she went through the process again, the strands were so clear that she wanted to weep.

“I think I can do better,” he said.

“No, Fitz, this is perfect.”

“Yeah, no, but um . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut. “If I start from scratch, with proper materials, I can make this look like a pinhole camera. You’ll see.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him, but she tried to minimize the warmth in her cheeks. Really, she decided, Fitz was the best partner she could ever ask for, and if her little crush was getting in the way, she would simply have to set it aside.

But when he smiled back at her, she told herself that Rome wasn’t built in a day.

“So,” she said, finding a sudden need to twirl her hair in a way that felt unusually awkward, “do you need help writing up the paper or—”

“No, actually,” he said. He turned to grab his textbook and took a few folded pieces of computer paper out of it. “It’s all written; you just need to put in your findings.”

“What?” She took the papers out of his hand and, sure enough, the entire assignment was basically done. She looked up at him. “How did you write this before I finished my analysis?”

“Well, you already knew what the mutation was, didn’t you? You’re doing all this because our professor has the idiotic notion that we need to show our work.”

Once again, a smile broke out of its own accord, starting at one corner of her mouth and spreading to another.

“Oh Fitz, this is the best valentine anyone ever gave me. Thank you.”

Fitz blinked at her, mouth ajar for a moment before he managed to ask, "It's Valentine's Day today?"


	2. February 14th, 2008: SciOps

“Ugh!”

Fitz looked up from his tinkering to find Simmons rubbing her temples.

“Something wrong?”

She looked at him and let out a sigh. “It’s nothing, Fitz. I just can’t manage to get these cell samples to do what I want them to do.” She turned to look at him. “Why do they give us samples on Thursdays and expect us to present findings on Fridays?”

He could only shrug in response, and try not to smile at her frustration. She wouldn’t like to know how cute she was when she was like this.

“Well,” he offered, “we’re geniuses?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, well, we are unfortunately still governed by the laws of physics. And it is physically impossible for me to analyze cells when I can’t manage to heat fix them properly.”

“But that’s the first step in cell analysis,” he blurted, earning himself a cold glare from Simmons, but it didn’t phase him. “Wait a minute—you have to present this tomorrow, and you haven’t started?” When she folded her arms and stared daggers at him, he put his hands up in surrender.

“It’s been a busy week Fitz, with-”

“Bennet on holiday, yeah. Hang on, is this  _her_ work?”

Simmons shook her head. “No, but I’ve been so buried with her assignments that I haven’t had a chance to start until an hour ago. She doesn’t have the clearance for this, anyway. _We_ don’t have the clearance for this. They won’t even tell me who these cells belong to.”

“So, they’re human cells?”

“Well,” she replied, pressing her face into her hand, “they should be, but they’re not behaving like like they should. When I try to heat fix them at the normal temperature, they fry. When I turn the heat down, they don’t get hot enough for the cell walls to break down.”

“And you’re a great cook, so it can’t be that.” He wasn’t aware of what he’d said until it was too late, but luckily, she didn’t seem to think much of it. “So, uh, I mean, sounds like you need a more precise method of cooking them.” He snapped his fingers. “I can build you something. Wouldn’t take too long.”

One part of his brain heard Simmons protest, but the gears were already turning. The device could have practical applications, of course. Soon, it would be in every SHIELD lab, then maybe sold to labs all over the world, and that would help fund all the—

“ _Fitz!_ ”

“Hmm?”

For some reason, he looked down at his hands and discovered that he was carrying an armload of materials. He looked up at Simmons.

“Fitz, you don’t have to do this. I’ll figure it out—you can go home. You don’t need to spoil your plans for me.”

He blinked at her. “Plans? I’m a SHIELD agent. I don’t have time for plans.”

Simmons somehow managed to shake her head and roll her eyes at the same time. “Fitz, I know you finished your last project over an hour ago. Tell me you’re not bored out of your mind.”

“Ah,” he countered, “but now I have a _new_ project. My boredom is cured, thanks to you. Now, I know we’ve got a small heating element somewhere . . .”

He handed what he had to her and went back to rummage through the closet when he heard her laughter ring out behind him.

“Fitz, you’re incorrigible.”

“No,” he said, inspecting a handful of screws, “I’m an engineer. And if you don’t want me to do this, you shouldn’t put ideas in my head. You know how I am when I get ideas.”

She laughed again, and he’d already promised himself that he would stop loving the sound of it, but it was no use today. “I know that you must be hungry. Do you want me to make us something?”

His mouth started watering at the thought, but he restrained himself. “No, this’ll go faster if I have your help. Then I can help you with your analysis, and we might be able to get out before sunrise.”

He looked back at her just in time to catch her smile. “Shall I order in, then? What are you hungry for?”

“Everything.”

They’d made good progress on the device when they heard the doorbell ring, and Simmons jumped out of her seat.

“I’ll get it! You stay here.”

Fitz was so engrossed in the work that he didn’t even think of disobeying until Simmons set a pizza box right in front of him.

“Oh! Do you want me to pay for it, or—”

“It’s already paid for. Including this.” She placed a bottle of wine on the table and grinned from ear to ear. “Seeing as we are finally allowed to drink in this country, I thought it fitting on a day like today.”

Fitz had already cleared out a space for them to eat, too excited about food to think about what Jemma was saying until he opened the box and felt his mouth fall open.

“It’s shaped like a heart.”

“I know it is, Fitz.”

“It’s not even an anatomically correct heart.”

“Ugh, Fitz. They make all the pizzas like that today.”

“Today?” He looked from the pizza up to Simmons, and it wasn’t until he caught a glint from the wine bottle in the corner of his eye that it all clicked into place. He groaned.

“It’s Valentine’s Day today, isn’t it.” When he dared to open his eyes, he saw her smirk at him. “Again?”

“Happens every year,” she teased.

It took Fitz a minute to fully process the fact that Jemma Simmons had just bought him dinner and wine on Valentine’s Day, of all days. Did that mean they were on a date? _Ugh_ , that’s why she’d asked him if he had plans. She was still under some odd delusion that he was capable of dating a girl.

But, of course, if sharing dinner was a date, then he and Simmons had been dating for years now. And dinner in a lab, of all places, was not very date-like. The wine, however . . .

“They had a discount on the wine when you got an extra large,” Simmons explained. “Some kind of holiday deal. It was hard to find a wine that would pair well with your favorite pizza _and_ mine, so I got one that paired with mine. I thought you wouldn’t mind. Fitz?”

“Hmm?”

Simmons cocked her head to the side. “Do you mind? I can run out and get something else, if you—”

“Oh! No.” He shook his head to clear it. “It’s fine. I was just thinking of something else, sorry.”

She gave him an affectionate smile and said, “Of course. I know how you are on an empty stomach. Come on.”

The pizza, of course, was fantastic. Nothing less than what he would have expected when Simmons was at the helm.

It couldn’t be a date, he decided, since Simmons had paid for it. But, his traitorous brain pointed out, it was common knowledge that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. And if Simmons ever had the inclination to seduce him—well, it wouldn’t take much more than this, really. Between this and her sandwiches, he was sure he could be madly in love with her forever.

“How’s the meat lovers?”

“Hmm?”

She chuckled. “Must be good if you’re so distracted.”

“This, Simmons,” he said with true sincerity, “was made by a person who truly loved meat.”

“Sounds like your perfect match,” she teased, and Fitz’s heart stopped.

“Oh, well I wouldn’t—”

“Well, my margherita is phenomenal and yes, you can try some. But we should probably save the rest of the wine until later if we’re going to do that cell analysis.”

“Right,” he said, desperately trying not to think about _wine_ and _later_ , “well, the device is almost done, and with my help, we’ll make short work of the analysis.”

She gave him a knowing grin. “But you’ll be useless until you’ve had a bite of my pizza, aren’t you?”

He didn’t have to answer, because she placed a slice in his hand, and they continued munching in blissful silence.


	3. February 14th, 2011: SciTech Academy

Simmons jumped when Fitz dropped an entire stack of papers on the lab table.

“Ugh, Fitz! You scared me.”

“If you really want a fright, you should read these. One student tried to make a case for cold fusion using palladium cathode and heavy water.”

Simmons adjusted her microscope. “Terrifying,” she deadpanned.

“Well, said Fitz, “they’re our students. I’d expect them to be far more advanced by now.”

She sat up just to roll her eyes at him, then went back to her work. “We’re only six weeks into the semester. And this is our first class.”

“We’re practically halfway through the course, and we’re the brightest minds this place has ever seen. You’d think some of our brilliance would rub off on them.”

She gave him a pointed look as she jotted down some notes, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

“It’s our first class, Fitz! We’re still figuring out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Fitz conceded, “well, if all the cadets are as thick as that lot, we might as well go back to SciOps. At least then we’d have more time for research.”

“But we wouldn’t have Agent Weaver,” Simmons reminded him, and the argument died immediately. She and Fitz argued about a variety of subjects, but one thing they absolutely agreed on was how they would give anything to work wherever Agent Weaver did.

Still, she could understand his frustrations. It did seem that the cadets got dimmer each year, but of course, that was only because she and Fitz continued to progress. At least they were finally the same age as some of the younger students. Weaver was wise to ask them to wait this long to come back, as they likely would have a hard time earning the respect of students who were eight years their senior. Even now, only the brightest were their age, and most cadets were close to thirty.

It was strange, though. Coming back should have been like a second chance, starting over in a way that would allow them to actually be a part of the student body. But, of course, they weren’t. And despite how much ribbing they’d gotten when they’d announced their transfer, she and Fitz couldn’t befriend or date any of the students without getting court martialed. 

Really, not much had changed.

So, here they were, spending yet another Valentine’s Day in the lab. Not the worst place to be, but it would be nice to spend the holiday in a nice restaurant for once. It could even be one of those places where each table had a single rose as a centerpiece, with a violinist meandering from table to table, and Fitz would—

Fitz?

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

Fitz put his hands on his waist and nodded at her microscope. “What are you working on?”

“Oh! Nothing. Remember those blind samples I was working on a few years back?”

Fitz shrugged. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Right, well, these were the ones I couldn’t heat fix—the ones you made that device before?”

Fitz nodded. “The FIXER. Right. Why are you working on them now?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, “they only asked for a preliminary analysis before, but now they want me to go deeper. See for yourself.”

Simmons stepped back from the microscope to allow Fitz a chance to look, though she still ended up peering over his shoulder, moving back in unison with him as he turned to look at her.

“What is that—some kind of envelope around the cell wall?”

Simmons nodded. “Exactly. I have a little more information on the subject now, since we’ve been promoted to level five. I still don’t know his identity, but I do know that his cells have unnatural abilities. And this extra membrane seems to be permeable to sound vibrations, so they’re not ruptured when a lot of sound is produced.”

“Hmm,” said Fitz, furrowing his brow, “how much sound are we talking?”

“That, I do not know. I’ve been asked to find out just how many decibels these cells can handle, though. So I was hoping-”

“I’d make you a device to beam sound waves at the poor little devils.” He stroked his chin. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m sure we have something we can modify.”

“How about the—”

“Yeah, exactly what I was thinking.”

Simmons smiled as she watched him rummage through his desk drawers, and really, spending the evening in the lab with Fitz wasn’t so bad. In fact, she felt a little spoiled to have him all to herself tonight, without any students or interns buzzing about. Half of them were head-over-heels in love with Fitz, and the fact that he was absolutely clueless was one of her favorite things about her new job.

It only took about five minutes before Fitz had a device for her, and they were ready to begin trials. But as they each put sound-proof headphones on, the silence that ensued made it feel more like a dance than an experiment. Simmons was certainly not the silly cadet she used to be all those years ago, the one who thought she had a crush on Fitz, so really, it could not be explained. Perhaps she was more upset about her lack of dating prospects than she thought.

Fitz motioned for her to take her headphones off and suggested they take a break, which she thought odd, since they weren’t really at a good stopping point. But, she supposed, Fitz had never been a fan of wearing headphones for extended periods of time. It was about when they were finished updating their notes that there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!”

She couldn’t even ask Fitz if he’d expected someone before he was headed towards the door with the widest of grins plastered on his face. Did he have a date after all? It seemed unlikely. Why would she come pick him up here? And why wouldn’t he have told her about it? She couldn’t imagine a more inconsiderate action in the whole of existence. After all, would Fitz just expect her to stay here and grade papers into the late hours of the night?

No, it was Fitz. Of course he would.

By the time Fitz returned, she was so overcome with pure, unadulterated rage that she almost didn’t notice the pizza box Fitz plopped down in front of her.

“It’s funny that you got that assignment today,” he said, shaking his head, “because I was thinking about that night, too. And I figured it was my turn to buy.”

He opened the box to reveal a heart-shaped pizza, half meat lover’s, half margherita. Simmons was speechless.

“And it was a rosé last time, right? To go with yours?” 

Simmons shrugged, still stunned. “Close enough,” she managed to say.

“Good,” he said with a nod, and the smile that soon followed was bright enough to blind her.

Was this his plan all along? To use nostalgia and excellent food to woo her? Because there were rules about fraternization between professors too, and she could quote them right now if . . . but should she? 

“I figured we’d be up all night grading papers anyway, and since I was robbing you of a date, it was the least I could do.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, and then she managed to whisper, “You knew it was Valentine’s Day?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Every single one of our TAs asked for the night off. Of course I knew. I tried to get Wentworth to stay, but he gave me this speech about how he’d already missed his chance with this girl, and he wasn’t going to muck it up again. He would have been no use if he’d been here, anyway. You know how I feel about crying in the lab.” He handed her a slice of pizza and started pouring the wine. “And I figured that if you had a date, you would have told me in writing three weeks in advance. But at least we can have a drink and not worry about setting a bad a example for our students.” He winked at her then, and for just a split second, she thought it might be nice if Fitz leaned in right then and kissed her.

But of course, that was absolutely ridiculous. She really needed to cut down on the rom coms.

“Still,” he said between bites (his table manners were still atrocious, despite her best efforts), “this isn’t a bad way to spend and evening, is it? Pizza, wine, and science?”

“And us,” she added, though she hardly knew why, “the perfect combination.”

He took his cup of wine and held it up to her. “To pizza, wine, science, and us. May our holy union last ‘till death do we part.”

She laughed as she tapped her cup against his, and as they both drank, she barely even noticed Fitz’s terrible grammar, as she was distracted by a warmth in her chest that was far too sudden to have been brought on by the alcohol. 

In the end, Simmons concluded that traditional Valentine’s dates were extremely overrated.


	4. February 15th, 2014: The Bus

Fitz stifled a yawn as he read the thirteenth page for the fiftieth time.

“I just—do you even know what these words mean, Jemma?”

She turned to him just as he was distracted by the newness of her given name on his lips. He was still surprised that she hadn’t asked him to stop using it.

“Well,” she said, taking in a breath, “I know what most of them mean, and so do you, and we’ll just have to guess at what fills in the gaps.”

“But we can’t just fill in the gaps for a mystery miracle drug and expect to—”

Simmons shook her head. “I know, I know. But it’ll give us a start, at least. Point us in the right direction so we can at least have a chance at saving Skye. Without GH-325, she’ll . . .” She blinked. “Anyway, we can’t stop, not until we figure this out.”

“Jemma, it’s three in the morning.”

He watched as her mouth opened, and she grabbed his wrist to check his watch for herself. He tried not to let her touch send sparks through him, but it was of no use. The later it got, the less he could trust himself.

And despite his best efforts, there were still butterflies in his stomach when she got near, still tingles in his skin when she brushed by, and still a distinct newness to so many things that were routine to them.

Of course, he’d had crushes before, had crushes on _her_ before, so he couldn’t understand why this one wasn’t fading away like all the others. Maybe it was all the insanity that was happening around them.

Maybe he just needed to slow things down.

“Fitz,” she argued, “how can we rest when Skye is hurt like that?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can we help her when we’re dead on our feet? We _need_ to rest, so we can keep on fighting for her.”

Simmons seemed to consider this, cocking her head to the side and drawing her mouth into a thin line.

(He really needed to stop noticing her mouth.)

“Fine,” she said, “we’ll rest, but only after we’ve made some progress. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

He agreed, and they went to work. Fitz pulled up articles, Simmons pored over them, and it wasn’t long before all the margins were filled with notes. And while Fitz didn’t feel any closer to solving the riddle, he did feel like kissing Simmons in the lab was more and more of an unavoidable consequence of the late hour and her dangerous proximity.

And why shouldn’t she be kissed, every once in a while? Jemma deserved to be kissed, and often. She deserved to be loved and _know_ she was loved, every minute of every day. And since she spent every minute of every day with him, he was uniquely suited to take on such an important responsibility. He knew her better than anyone, he trusted her, he was trusted _by_ her, and really, a better match could not be made. Who else could keep up with her brilliance? Laugh at her complicated jokes? Know every surefire way to make her smile?

And when Fitz decided that he was simply the only man in all creation that Simmons could truly fall for, he knew he was too tired to function.

Simmons would never fall for him. The end.

Still, there had been more and more moments when he forgot that very crucial fact, like when she lit up at a new discovery or gave him even the smallest of compliments. And it didn’t help that his brain was mush, she was on fire, and he had held her in his arms just a few days ago.

Oh, how he wanted to hold her again. Just for a moment. Just for forever.

But if he let go of this moment, he would have her forever.

They were inseparable, after all. They were SHIELD’s premiere science duo, they were best friends, and they could do anything. They were still together after all of these years because of a thousand variables that had lined up to neatly slot the two of them side by side. If he changed the variables, he’d change the equation. If he changed the equation, he’d change the solution, and there was no telling what the new solution would be. And considering the fact that Jemma would never, ever consider him, there seemed to be no possibility that the change would be positive.

He could either have a moment, or forever.

He chose forever.

Besides, as he continued to tell himself, this was only a crush, and it would pass as quickly as his crush on Skye had. And even if it didn’t pass, and he had to cut out his own heart to keep her, it’d be well worth it.

“Fitz?”

“Hmm?”

Jemma blinked at him, but in a way in which her eyes were more closed than open.

“Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

She chuckled. “Maybe we’d work better on a full stomach.”

Fitz thought they’d work better after a good night’s rest, but he was too tired to argue. He followed Simmons out of the lab and down the hall, hoping that he at least wouldn’t run into anything.

“It just . . . it doesn’t make sense, Fitz.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “According to the files—what I can make out—anyway, one of the key ingredients to GH-325 is these cells, and I’ve never seen anything like them before. They almost look human. And the drug itself looks like a vaccine, but of course, it’s not a vaccine.”

“Because vaccines are administered before an illness to prevent and infection,” he added with a smile. She smiled back.

“Yes. And this drug, it repairs damaged tissue at an incredibly rapid rate. As far as I can tell, it’s because these unidentifiable cells find damaged cells and change their own structure so they can replace them. It’s impossible, or it should be. If you look at the analysis of the DNA, there’s this base pair that reacts in a way that just doesn’t make sense. And the name of the base pair is redacted, so I don’t even know what it is! Why would they redact a base pair?”

Fitz, who was using all his available brain matter to keep up with Simmons, almost ran into a wall as he scrambled to answer.

“Um, no clue. Maybe it’s DNA from someone with abilities? If you saw the base pair, maybe you’d be able to figure out who it is. Maybe it’s some molecule that’s not supposed to be in DNA in the first place.”

Simmons pressed her lips together. “That’s possible, but I can’t just wave a magic wand and divine what that base pair is, can I? And Agent Tilney, the geneticist who worked on the project, is dead! I don’t know who I could even ask about this, and if I could, I’d doubt they’d tell me.”

“A dead geneticist, huh?” Fitz yawned. “Sounds a little convenient to me.”

Simmons huffed at him as they entered the kitchen, and Fitz went straight to the refrigerator without thinking.

“It’s actually very inconvenient. Anything good in there?”

Fitz produced a pizza box. “Let’s hope. I think Coulson said this was fair game.”

They were both slightly disappointed to discover that the pizza was half-pepperoni, half-Hawaiian, but Fitz saved his diatribe against fruit on pizza for another time. They relocated to the sofa, and he didn’t even look at which kind he grabbed before he stuffed a slice into his mouth. Jemma did the same.

“You know,” she said between bites, “it’s a shame that you can’t just whip up some device for me, something that recreates a drug when we program it with a half-redacted formula. That would come in handy about now. That’s what usually happens in times like these—I get stuck and you save the day.”

Fitz froze mid-chew and stared at her. “I, um, well I’d make you something if I could.”

“I know,” she sighed, grabbing another slice from the box. “You are too good to me. I’m really glad you’re here with me, Fitz. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few days without you.”

When she looked up at him with her soft, brown eyes, Fitz almost fell apart right there. Every man had his weakness, and his was a small English biochemist who occasionally thought he was a hero.

“Me? I’ve been mostly useless.”

“You’ve been indispensable.”

He had a thousand arguments for her, and he was just about to remind her that he was the one who let Skye get hurt in the first place when she closed the pizza box and snuggled up against him. Fitz could barely breathe, afraid that any movement would alert her to what she’d just done, but she was so worn out that she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She kept going on and on about the formula and Skye’s wounds, until suddenly it was morning, and Fitz awoke to find her curled up around him like a cat.

And it was then that Fitz realized that he and Jemma had spent the night together on Valentine’s Day. All hope of ever getting over her had melted with the dawn.


	5. February 14th, 2015: San Juan

Trip loved Valentine’s Day.

This, Jemma knew for certain, because it was only a week ago when she’d walked into the kitchen and found him drowning in small clippings of pink and red paper. He’d winked at her and said something about spreading sunshine.

Jemma looked at the makeshift lab around her and tried not to think about how cold and dark it was without him. And when she caught Fitz in the corner of her eye, all the way at the opposite side of the lab, it only felt colder. It had been a day since Fitz had dissolved their partnership, and the words he'd said to her were still lingering, still sharp. The pain dragged out every moment into an agonizing eternity.

And things had happened before, terrible things, but this was the first time she didn’t have Fitz to lean on, and she hated it.

The only thing she could do to stop herself from breaking was to keep going, keep going, keep going. Coulson had already decided that she was going to stay behind and lead the army of SHIELD agents that would clear out and destroy the temple, but she had one mission first: clearing Mack.

Mack, who’d been possessed by the alien city.

Mack, who had almost thrown her to her death.

Mack, who was going to be a wall between her and Fitz.

Of course, no one had said it, but she knew it was true. Whether he knew it or not, Fitz was hiding behind that bearded frown, and Jemma was powerless to do anything about it. If she pushed back, she might bruise him.

It was strange how much could change in a year, when she and Fitz had spent so much time hardly changing at all. And if she could just let the change happen, maybe it would all work out for the better. But there was a part of her that was screaming, as if the very cells in her body were dying from the lack of a kind of oxygen only he could provide.

The silence between them was suffocating.

And yet, when the world was literally collapsing around them, she’d had Fitz to keep her steady, and he had held on tight. She wished she had a reason to return the favor now, to run over there and sweep him in her arms and beg him to stay. If he hadn’t held her, maybe she’d be able to let go of the hope that he’d change his mind.

“Agent Simmons?”

Jemma turned to find Agent Ferrars, a kind man with a warmth in his eyes that she was sure would not last.

“The samples you requested,” he said, offering her four vials full of what was presumably Mack’s blood.

She thanked him, shooed him away, and began her work. It wasn’t too long before she sensed Fitz behind her, haunting the back half of their lab.

“Do y-you, uh, do you have all the equipment and r-resources you need?”

She almost laughed, because he was the best resource she could ever have—a wealth of knowledge, creativity, and compassion that supported and sustained her. Without it, she felt crippled. She’d been hobbling along already when she couldn’t be in sync with him; how would it be when she didn’t have him at all?

And it almost seemed funny that today, of all days, would be their last.

“Do you have any idea how to check a man’s blood for a lack of alien mind control?” she joked instead. “Because I can check potassium levels, but I don’t think that’ll be much help.”

Fitz folded his arms and furrowed his brow. “I guess, I guess you’d have to figure out what it was that co, co-opted him in the first place,” he said, “like a spore, or something. You could check for that.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but we’d need a sample of the spore, if that’s what it is.”

“Well,” said Fitz, “there, uh, there should be some on our suits, yeah? I don’t think they’ve been through decontam yet.”

It was a brilliant idea, but of course, his always were. Before she knew it, he’d retrieved the suits, swabbed them, and was beginning to prepare a slide. Was it strange that it made her heart skip a beat? Or was it only natural, given the way he furrowed his brow in concentration as he held the slide over the hot bath? Ten years ago, he wouldn’t know a malachite dye from food coloring; five years ago, he wouldn’t have handled it with such care; and last year, he’d have been too afraid to get near the stuff. The world had made its mark on him, but so had she.

“Fitz,” she started, and she lost her entire train of thought when his eyes flicked up to hers. In the corner of her eye, she saw his hand shake, and she froze. If she pointed it out, he’d be discouraged; if she praised him, he’d feel patronized.

“Thank you,” she finally said. Fitz nodded at her.

“I may not be what I used to be, but I can at least save you some time.”

She almost took a step back, she was so shocked by the blow. Was he simply hurrying her along so he could retrieve his new best friend and get as far away from her as possible? She focused on Mack’s blood, knowing that Fitz’s gaze would steer clear as long as she was handling it. She didn’t want him to see the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Because he was right—he wasn’t what he used to be. It never used to hurt this much to be near him, or to be so far away. But, at the same time, she’d never been filled with so much pride as she watched him overcome the cruelty that nature had dealt him. She’d never been so awed by his strength.

He might think that his injury somehow made him less, but the truth is that he was more than he ever was. He was certainly more than she ever could be. And if she could just get closer to him, if he could lend her that strength for a moment, maybe it would be a salve to soothe her breaking heart. Maybe she would have time to heal. She would be more than happy to give whatever he needed in return.

She continued to her analysis, feeling the gulf widening between them even as they worked together for what was possibly the last time. After a few agonizing minutes, she abandoned Mack’s blood to prepare the alcohol solution for Fitz. He took it without looking at her, and how did he really think he was useless, when he washed the slides with such precision? She couldn’t have done any better. When he finally placed the slides under her microscope and stood back to give her room, she was almost able to imagine away all the tension and pretend that this was just another day at SciOps, or one of the many Valentine’s Days they’d shared in the past. Truly, properly prepared slides were a sure way to any biochemist’s heart. If he hadn’t blindsided her with his declaration, if the water hadn’t claimed him, is this how it would be? The same Fitz, the same lab work, but with a different charge in the air? With a different meaning?

Because she wasn’t a girl who needed flowers, or sonnets, or chocolates. She was a girl who needed to know that she would never be alone.

But, she remembered, she soon would be. That was the meaning behind this, and the meaning changed everything.

“Is there,” he started, “is there anything else you want me to do? I could—well, I’m sure Mack needs me to—”

“Mack is with the med team. He’ll be fine.”

“Well, not if—”

She looked up from her microscope and caught his eyes. “We’re going to figure this out, Fitz. You were right about the spores; see for yourself.” She stepped back to give him a turn, and after an awkward standstill, he took it. “See those green clumps?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know what spores look like, Jemma.”

“Yes, but look closer—these ones are translucent. You can actually see the bacterial cells that the spores are encasing. It was the bacteria that did this, Fitz; the spores were just the vehicle. What happened to Mack was an infection.”

“That’s a hypothesis,” he sighed. “You don’t have to . . . I mean, mind control by bacterial infection?”

She shrugged at him. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Yes, but you can’t prove it. This is barely a half-decent lab, and you don’t have the resources or the time, and—”

“We can figure it out. Now that we know there are spores, we can culture them and isolate the bacteria. The spores must have entered his bloodstream through a cut, maybe something he snagged on when he went down the rope. If the med team can find the entry point—confirm that the infection took place—and the bloodwork comes back the way it’s supposed to, that should be enough to clear him, don’t you think? We can do the rest of the analysis back at the Playground.”

“Jemma,” he breathed, “I’m not . . . I’m not going back there. I mean, I am, but . . .”

“Not to the lab,” she finished.

Fitz nodded. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, it was like the walls were closing in on her. She struggled for a lungful of air. “Yes, well, you did . . . you did say you could work _for_ me, and if I needed you . . . needed you to help—”

“But you don’t, you don’t need me, Jemma.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll just . . . just be in the way.”

Her breath hitched. Surely, being stabbed in the chest didn’t sting as badly as this. There were a thousand words that crowded on her tongue at once. _No, you’ll never be. No, you’ll miss out on too much. No, I’ll miss you too much._

_No, I want you here._

_No, I need you._

And maybe it was insanity driven by sheer desperation, but she hoped that even though it wasn’t his field, and even though she was too exhausted to be excited about any impending groundbreaking discoveries, Fitz might still be seduced by science. He could tinker in the garage, yes, but it would never be the same as what he could do in the lab, or with her. If she could hook him with this project, maybe she could reel him in and catch him for good.

But before she could wrestle a syllable out of her mouth, Fitz walked off, mumbling something about checking with the med team. As she watched him leave her, it all flooded back—how could she have forgotten Trip’s death? The wave of grief made her double over, and for a brief, selfish moment, she hated all this time spent on Mack. He hadn’t saved her life at the Hub, or given her comfort when Skye was at death’s doorstep. Mack had let Fitz cower behind him, when all Jemma had done, all she’d ever wanted, was—

All she ever wanted was for things to go back as they were.

She shivered, allowing herself to cry just for this brief moment, when no one could see her weakness. She mourned the loss of two men, feeling stupid and wrong for treating each with equal horror. Trip was gone for good, and Fitz was turning into someone else. He would never turn his heart away from science, but even if she could coax him back in the lab for a project, who was to say that he wouldn’t walk away again? Who would she turn to when things became too much? How could she see his pain from afar and do nothing to comfort him? How could she stand being with him in the lab knowing that he was there for his love of science, _despite_ her presence?

Working without him in the lab seemed bleak, of course, but life with Fitz in the periphery of her life seemed like a wasteland.

And a part of her knew, right then, that they would always have science, and it would never be enough.

So Jemma did the only thing she knew how to do. She kept going, kept going, kept going.


	6. February 14th, 2016: Michelangelo's

Fitz watched as Jemma tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

"So, uh, Jemma, are we here, or . . ."

She looked back at him with eyes he'd seen before, red rimmed and frightened. Those were the eyes that asked him to take her back to Maveth, and he felt himself gasp as his tie began to strangle him.

"Fitz?"

He managed to catch his breath, but he didn't dare open his eyes.

"Whatever you're going to say, just say it."

"Fitz, it's . . ." When he had the courage to look over at her, he found her staring at the hands in her lap. "Fitz, it's not a mission. I lied; I'm sorry."

"Oh."

It seemed that something ought to be said when a person discovered they were all dressed up and sitting in a parking lot for no purpose at all, but Fitz had no idea what those words might be.

"It's just—Fitz, I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"Believe what?"

He watched her as she bowed her head and clenched her fists, feeling at once an urge to comfort her and a need to back away. He compromised by staying still.

"You won't understand until you . . . just, just come with me, alright? If you want to leave, we can, but let me . . . let me show you."

There were tears in her eyes, and he was supposed to be strong enough, he really was, but he wasn't.

"Okay."

When she looked up at him, he knew those eyes, too.

She nodded, just like she did before, and checked her makeup in the mirror before unbuckling her seat belt.

"Okay," she said.

He followed her lead out of the car and through the gravel parking lot, worrying more about her heels than his own dress shoes. When they got to pavement, he felt a lot better about the both of them.

As they continued, he learned that he was not, in fact, in the middle of nowhere—merely at the edge of it. He could see lights up ahead, and the faintest whispers of music that grew louder as they approached. They ended up at, of all places, a restaurant. A nice one, from the looks of it.

Jemma reached for the door handle and looked back at him, almost as if she didn’t expect him to be there. He smiled to reassure her, and it almost worked.

"But you don't understand," came a voice from inside, "my brother has a reservation every year. Can you please look again?"

The voice dripped with poise, and the woman who belonged to it had a smile to match. The man at her side, on the other hand, seemed to be plotting his escape.

“I’m sorry, miss, but there are no reservations under that name. Perhaps you would like to come back another time? Next week, perhaps?”

The woman put a hand over her heart with a gasp. “Next week, really? Are you sure you can’t fit us in anywhere? I’m sure you must have some place—a table outside, maybe? Can you add one? We’ll leave you stunning online reviews, won’t we, Eddie? His father is a senator, you know.”

Eddie was either about to say something or throw up, but before Fitz could find out, the maître d' offered to fetch a manager. Eddie’s date stepped to the side graciously as the maître d' helped the next couple in line.

And it wasn’t until he saw the heart-shaped bouquet of roses that Fitz realized it was Valentine’s Day, and he and Jemma were on a date.

Jemma must have seen something in his eyes, because she chose that moment to turn to him and say something before she was interrupted by an, “Aren’t you the cutest couple?”

They both turned in unison to find the woman smiling at them. Jemma almost managed to thank her before the woman continued. “Tell me, how long ago did you make your reservations? I need a good story for the manager when he comes. Something he’ll believe.”

“Mary,” Eddie gasped, and Mary rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, come on. I have to give him some kind of sob story if I expect them to bend the rules for us. And how about you, sir,” she said, turning to Fitz, “how much of an early bird did you have to be?”

Fitz opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come.

“October,” whispered Jemma.

Both Fitz and Mary gaped at her.

“October, really?” Mary frowned. “Well, I don’t know if I can make them believe that, but I’ll certainly try.” She smiled at Eddie, who winced. “And I’m sure you two wouldn’t want to give us your table, would you? It’s our first Valentine’s as a couple, and we really want to make it special.”

“Ours, too,” said Jemma.

Mary looked between the two of them, and Fitz was sure that it was pity on her face.

“Ah, well you could have fooled me. You look like you’ve been together forever. Probably because you’re the type that will be. I can tell.”

Fitz could barely breathe, and he wasn’t sure Jemma was doing any better, but thankfully, it was finally their turn. Fitz still had no idea what was happening, or what he wanted to happen, but he was certain that it would be a lot less awkward at a table.

“Jemma Simmons,” he said when asked for a name. “It’s under Jemma Simmons.”

“Actually,” corrected Jemma, “it’s under Fitz. Leo Fitz.”

“Ah,” said the maître d'. “Mr. Leo Fitz. Right this way.”

Fitz’s shock was only intensified when they were lead into an expansive dining area that was beautiful enough to take his breath away. From the marbled floor to the small sculptures tucked in niches in the walls to the reproduction of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel above, it seemed they’d stepped into a dream. Before he knew it, he was seated at a table across from Jemma, who was clenching and unclenching her hands.

“Jemma, did you . . .” He was sure his brain was about to explode. “Has there been a reservation here in my name since . . .”

“Since two days after I told you about Will, yes.”

She couldn’t look at him, and he didn’t want her to.

“Two days?”

She shook her head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” she said, as if that was all the answer he needed, and he was about to ask her what exactly she meant when the waiter came by and asked if they’d like to order drinks. Jemma insisted on water, not wine, and Fitz wondered if she was afraid of repeating past events. Maybe she was worried that if they started drinking, they’d never stop.

Jemma watched the waiter leave, then she turned back, caught his gaze, and dropped it.

“We really can leave,” she said. “Right now. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Yes, it will.”

She pinched her eyes shut. “No, Fitz. I—I just wanted you to see, and now you have, so we really can go. I know you don’t . . .” She took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want this.”

“Do _you_ want this?”

It’s a question that he hasn’t dared to ask, not since she got sucked into the rock, and he would never had asked it if he hadn’t been in a state of shock. He’d been sure that those four words would be the end of him.

Jemma swallowed, staring at her white knuckles.

“More than anything,” she said.

“Oh.”

The word just slipped out, like an exhale, and Jemma’s hand flew to her forehead, her lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded. Fitz found that he was clutching at his knife.

“I, uh, I thought . . .” Jemma trailed off. “We’ve always had Valentine’s Day. Did you know that? After all that’s happened to us—hypoxia, Hydra, all of it—this was the time we had to be together.”

“We’ve never been together, Jemma,” he breathed, and it felt like his heart would be shattered to bits.

"Fitz, you've been my valentine for eleven years, whether we knew it or not."

Fitz tightened his grip on his knife. "Well yes, but that doesn't mean . . . just because it's tradition . . ."

"It's not a tradition, Fitz," she said, and he almost gasped when she put her hand over his fist. "It's who we are." She swallowed, and he wondered what she was trying to keep down. “Fitz, I—I ruined it last time, and I want to do this. For you. Please.”

It was the image of the last reservation he’d had that turned his heart to butter. It was wrong to watch her suffer like this, no matter what happened between them, and he had to stop it.

Fitz shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he corrected, and then in a tone almost too low to hear, he added, “you make everything better, Jemma.”

She smiled then, a small quirk of her lips as she stared at her hand over his.

“Fitz,” she finally said, and when he saw the tears in her eyes, he let go of the knife hold her hand in both of his.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he soothed, stroking her hand with his thumb.

“No, Fitz, let me just,” she took in a shaky breath, “let me . . . let me tell you that this should be us. I want it to be us. Every year, forever. I know we’re not . . . where I thought we would be by now, and . . . Fitz, I just—”

“Where did you think we would be?”

He didn’t mean it as an accusation, and he was relieved when she didn’t take it as one. She put her free hand over his, so that all four hands were there on the table, and she said, “Here, I guess. Just . . . ready. I didn’t think . . . you were so good to me, Fitz. You have been, this whole time. I thought you’d hate me for what I did, and you . . . I mean, I hoped. I haven’t had hope for anything in a long time. But I couldn’t tell you, because I knew you, you wouldn’t . . .”

“Believe you,” he finished with a sigh. She glanced up at him and nodded. They sat for a while as Fitz’s thumbs caressed her fingers, and Jemma studied him with furrowed brows.

“Fitz, say something. Please.”

She’d made this request before, more than once, and he’d always struggled to obey her.

“Jemma, I . . .”

“I’m sorry for the wait; there was some trouble at the front. Are you ready to order?”

Jemma and Fitz looked at each other before Fitz shook his head at the waiter.

“Sorry.”

The waiter sighed and let out a chuckle. “Okay. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

They both smiled at him, and he saw her dig into her menu the same time he did, likely feeling the same responsibility to choose something now that the waiter was, well, waiting.

“What should I get?”

Jemma looked up from her menu. “Hmm?”

“Oh, come on. You’ve had months to look at these menus, yeah? You already know what you want and what I want.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then smiled.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s get that then.”

“Do you want me to tell you what it is?”

“No,” he said, closing his menu. “I trust you.”

That set off a spark in her eyes, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.

_You trust me, sure, but do you believe me?_

Did he believe that she loved him? That she wanted to be with him, after everything? He’d been sure that she didn’t, and that nothing could change his mind on the matter. After all, she’d learned how to live and love without him. It seemed that he would have to find a way to do the same, as impossible as it was. Maybe he needed space so he could figure all this out.

The only problem was that taking a step back from his best friend always felt wrong.

“I um,” he started, “it’s a lot, Jemma.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“And I don’t know where I’m at.”

There was a pause before Jemma said, “I see,” and she took a shaky breath before asking, “and where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere that’s not . . . that doesn’t hurt so much.”

She let out a sigh and pulled her hands out of his, and the pain in her eyes made him regret every word he’d ever said. He reached out to capture her hands once again.

“That goes for both of us,” he corrected. “I want us both in a better place.”

She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Fitz, I . . . I didn’t just look at the menus. I’ve been thinking a lot about sculpture.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her before noticing the word “Michelangelo’s” printed on the front of his menu.

“Oh.”

“There’s this quote, actually, from Michelangelo himself.” She stared at their joined hands. “‘Every block of stone has a statue inside it, and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.’ Sometimes I wonder if . . . if we’re like that. If there’s something we’ve always been. And if that’s who we really are, then how can we be happy pretending to be anything else?”

She didn’t mean it as a blow—he knew it—but it was a punch to the gut all the same.

“Jemma, you obviously . . . I mean you don’t have to pretend that you weren’t—we both know that you don’t need me.”

Anger flashed over her face in a way that genuinely surprised him. But just as she opened her mouth, the waiter reappeared.

“Are we ready?”

Jemma pursed her lips and nodded. “He’ll have the Milano,” she said, handing over her menu. “I’ll have the Napoli. And, um . . .” She pinched her eyes shut. “A nice rosé, please?” She looked up at the waiter to give him a smile which he returned as he tucked the menus under his arm and disappeared. Her smile vanished just a quickly. She stared at the table cloth as they both listened to the hum of life around them.

“Fitz,” she finally said, as if it pained her, “Fitz, I wish I knew how to make you understand, but I . . . I spent ten years thinking you had an ego the size of a hot air balloon, and I know I should’ve . . . I don’t know what I should have done. Something, I guess. I’ve told you every way I know how.” She reached forward to grab his hand. “I don’t ever want to be without you.”

It was, as always, her eyes that pierced his heart.

“And sometimes  . . . sometimes I think that we’re just, we used to have an equilibrium, but we lost it. All these things happened to us, the same things, but they affected us differently. You’re running a fever, I have a chill, and we have to find peace with what happened before we can come to a middle. But Fitz, I really do think that if we find equilibrium with, with our trauma, we'll find it with each other.”

Fitz gaped at her, almost forgetting how to breathe before he finally managed to ask, “Did you just . . quote the zeroth law of thermodynamics?”

He could go halfway around the world, or to the other side of the universe, but he’d never escape the way he felt when he made her smile.

She shrugged. “I've been thinking about that, too.”

He stared at the hand that was still in hers. “You think about it quite a lot, for a biochemist.”

“Yes,” she said, almost in a laugh, “well, you’ve had an effect on me.” Her eyes looked up at him, and he was lost. “Besides, you know more about biochemistry than any engineer has a right to.”

Her smile grew wider, and really, he couldn’t not love her. Not when she had such a grip on everything he held in his heart. There were a thousand reasons to cut and run, but what if they could actually feel the same way at the same time? If there was any heart that could beat at the same rhythm, it had to be hers.

“Fitz,” she whispered, staring at her thumb as it grazed over his, “did you really never think about us? Before?”

Fitz took a breath and remembered the first day he met her, the day he thought he’d never see her again, and so many days in between—late nights in the lab, early mornings in the field, and more stolen afternoons than he’d care to count. He sighed and shook his head.

“I think . . . I think I’ve always been thinking about us, Jemma. I just, didn’t let myself know that I was.”

She nodded then, a wistful smile on her lips as she opened his hand and trailed a finger down his palm. “Me, too.”

He let himself smile back at her, and the conversation meandered away from the present and into the past. Jemma blushed when she told him how she used to scribble their names into her academy notebooks, and he recalled the night she didn’t realize that he accidentally proposed. It felt good to laugh and watch her laugh, to see the glint in her eyes and know it was mirrored in his. There was still pain, of course, but they managed to drown it out until their food arrived. Fitz was practically salivating in anticipation, and he was not disappointed when the waiter presented him with a personal pizza (a fancy pizza, but a pizza all the same), overflowing with meat.

“You have prosciutto on yours,” she said, practically beaming in delight, then gesturing to her own pizza, covered in tomatoes, basil leaves, and what definitely had to be . . . “And there’s buffalo mozzarella on mine, Fitz, aren’t I clever?”

“You’ve always been clever,” he agreed.

She surveyed her pizza and his, her smile fading when she reached his eyes. “I know we’ve got a long way to go, but we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?”

He nodded, too overcome with emotion to think. The spell was broken when her smile returned.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you would stare at food instead of eat it.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought she winked at him. “Come on,” she said, “I won’t forget to give you a slice of mine.”

He dug in, happier than he’d been in he didn’t know how long, and as a wandering violinist made it to their table to make Jemma’s eyes dance with delight, he decided that happiness was actually possible for them.

And that, he thought, was the most romantic notion he’d ever had.

* * *

 “So,” he said as he opened the car door for her, “where do you think we’ll be next year? On a mission, maybe? Or maybe Coulson will let us go find a beach somewhere. Or maybe,” he sported a mischievous grin, “we’ll be back in the lab like always, already bored of all this nonsense.”

“Ugh, Fitz,” she said, rolling her eyes exactly as expected, but then she did something truly surprising.

She grabbed him by his lapels and kissed him.

And Fitz, for his part, didn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> We made it to the end! Hooray! Thanks to everyone who kudosed and commented. <3 You warm my heart!
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
